


History

by von_gikkingen



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27023431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: “Couldn’t you just let me die?”“Hey – I tried to tell them that’s what we should do with you, so don’t take that tone with me,” I snap at him even as I take a step closer.“You’re the one who made sure I lived,” he says, continuing to take that tone with me, the suicidal idiot.“And I regret it very much. Stephen bullied me into it. Wanna be snarky at anyone, be snarky at him. I was all for letting you die. Hell, I was ready to start digging the grave myself.”That momentarily shuts him up. Good. I need a quiet moment just now – to help me decide how much damage I want to do here. Because I do want to do some damage, there is no question there. I don’t care that he absolutely looks the part of someone who took on a crazy overpowered space sorcerer and nearly didn’t live to regret that decision. He still deserves to get punched. Because doing that? It doesn’t make him any less an unhinged killer.“This feels... unfair. To you,” he says eventually. Clearly choosing his words carefully. And still they make my hands immediately close into fists...“You really overestimate your impact on my life.”
Relationships: Karl Mordo/Original Female Character(s)





	1. Chapter 1

“Okay, fine. Obviously, I’m wasn't gonna let your parents stranded on a rooftop and dealing with future shock,” I sigh, raising my hands, ready to execute those so familiar gestures that would hopefully get us moving. “Where to?” 

“What?” 

“Where do you guys want to go? That is _you two_ ,” I indicate. “You don’t get a say. Sorry, but we have a Titan to fight and we need all the help we can get.” 

Hope Van Dyne gives me a look of someone who will not fight me on this. Whatever’s going down she wants to be in the middle of it – and isn’t that reassuring to know. Because this will really take all of us. 

“Guys, come on. An address. And bear in mind it’s been five years for the rest of us so whatever place you call home there’s a good chance someone is squatting there. So anywhere you can think of? Anywhere safe?” 

That gets an answer which is great because, again, we don’t have a whole lot of time to waste here. Of course that answer is immediately followed by some serious protests from Hank Pym. Which would be great to watch on any other day, since I do find his grumpy old man routine pretty damn entertaining – what with him having called me young lady twice by now. A hilarious thing to hear when what you actually are is a middle aged sorceress… 

“Okay,” I say, ignoring the indignant protests of _how would being anywhere they are make us any safer?_ and do my thing. Open a portal. Let the two very confused scientists know this is time for them to get on the other side of it. 

I just about catch a rather excited “Oh, hey, Doctor Pym,” a moment before I close it. It probably means I did manage to get them somewhere safe and that’s both good to know and in theory not our biggest problem right now. 

***

“Let’s never do that again,” I say, staggering through the portal I’m not sure I can keep open for much longer. It’s a miracle I can even recall the address I sent Hank and Janet to, beat up and dead tired as I am. “Bringing her back. In one piece, as promised.” 

I step aside to let them do the whole reuniting thing and start looking for a place to sit down before I fall over. Not particularly caring why there is this many people in the room. Or how did I not notice that Scott Lang snuck through the portal as well. 

Truth is I just don’t have it in me to follow much of what’s going on around me right now. About all I can do is collapse into the nearest chair and let the delayed reaction to what I just went through set in. Right on cue my hands start to shake. In a way that tells me I won’t be waving them around in overcomplicated gestures anytime soon. 

“ _Not the van_ ,” exclaim several voices what might be a minute later. It sounds so heartbroken it somehow manages to make its way through all the layers of my weariness, delayed reaction to the sight of an alien army charging at me and my overall lack of interest in all these normal people surrounding me. 

And right on cue a portal opens to remind me what my kind of people look like... 

“We have a situation,” announces Wong, taking no notice of the freakout his arrival caused. 

“No. We _had_ a situation. Then we handled it. Nailed it, if you ask me,” I say, tired smile spreading across my face when in the corner of my eye I catch Scott Lang nod his wholehearted agreement. “Don’t tell me it’s not over.” 

He says nothing. But no, no it is _not_ over... 

*** 

“I’m sorry – you want me to do _what_?” 

“You’re better at this kind of magic.” 

It takes a lot for someone with our Sorcerer Supreme’s capacity for humility to admit such a thing. And the sad part is I don’t even have it in me to savour the moment. I am far too busy being furious at him for even suggesting this. 

“I’m also better at remembering things, apparently. He...” 

“Stood with us against Thanos.” 

“Doesn’t magically absolve him. All the things he did before that...? All the sorcerers he maimed. And killed,” I add, meaningfully, seeing Strange is about to interject again. “I am _not_ helping you heal this man.” 

“Every life we lost in that battle is a victory for Thanos. Don’t let him have this one.”

“You can’t guilt me into this, Stephen. Never mind that we lost this life. Look at him – he’s already gone.” 

“I don’t believe he is. I have had some experience with the kind of magic the Ebony Maw was capable of working...”

“The Maw? Oh don’t tell me he actually took on that thing,” I say, glancing down at the nearly dead sorcerer. That I still feel no desire to help in any way, no matter which side he fought on today. “Yeah, I don’t think he’d thank us for healing him. That is an action of someone who wanted not to make it off that battlefield alive. You can’t take that away from him. He probably thought it somehow balanced the goddamn killing spree he was on for the past few years...” 

“I understand your feelings,” starts Strange, placating. 

“No you don’t. If you did you’d never ask me to do this. I’d never ask _you_ to waste good spells to save a life of your psycho ex, Steven. That’s just basic courtesy.” 

“I don’t expect you to... Your _what_?” he says, catching up to what I said. “I... did not know...” 

“You weren’t supposed to. No one was. It was an arrangement... doesn’t matter now,” I say, dismissingly. “Because that is not the reason I will not help you with this. It’s a bad idea. And I refuse to believe I’m the first person to tell you this.” 

“You are, actually. The rest of the order is in an agreement.”

“Well, that settles it,” I say, never breaking eyecontact with the Sorcerer Supreme as I slowly, deliberately add, “I’ve gotta find a different order to be a part of.” 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware of your... history... when I asked you to do this.” 

“Ancient goddamn history and no reason to put that much emphasis on the word, okay? Because I am already _so close_ to walking out...” 

“I understand,” he says in reply. 

“But you really don’t. We don’t need this on our hands. Just let him die.” 

“I can’t do that.”

“You know,” I say, finding myself glaring at him, “it’s times like these you’re _really_ making me miss the Ancient One.” 

It is the last thing I say to him before I cast the spell. Because I am convinced this is a mistake and one we’ll all live to regret. But I know that if I don’t he’ll try to do this himself and only make a mess of things. 

*** 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like opening a portal to New Asgard to go tell that hot Valkyrie that actually, on second thought, maybe I will take her up on that offer...” I say, not entirely sure I’m joking. “Too bad I don’t think I can even manage that much. I am so damn drained. And for what?” 

“You didn’t see what he did against the titan's forces,” says Wong. Meaning well but only making himself look very punchable with those words. “He gave everything he had.” 

“Yes. Including his life. Why the hell couldn’t we leave it that way...?” 

“Because it’s not who we are.” 

“It’s who I am.” 

“You are the reason he’s still breathing.” 

“And I will live to regret it,” I say, bitterly. 

“Come on,” says Wong, extending a hand to me. “Let’s get you some tea...” 

“Let’s get me something harder, why don’t we...? Seriously, why is tea the only thing to drink around here? We lead very stressful lives. We _need_ a liqueur cabinet... One that’s bigger on the inside,” I say, even as I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. 

“You should take that up with the Sorcerer Supreme. He might just agree, you know. He owes you now...” 

“I don’t think I want to talk to him again anytime soon.” 

I’m not even being dramatic here. I don’t see a scenario where me and Strange being in the same room won’t lead to my fist connecting with his face. I never minded his leadership, I knew for a fact I tolerated his personality a lot better than a lot of the others – but what he did today, what he _made me do_ today, crossed a goddamn line. 

I wasn’t entirely sure I will be remaining in the order after this. Though I definitely will be back to _told you so_ at them all day long after Mordo inevitably remembers that he’s an evil bastard and starts killing sorcerers again. 

“He didn’t know what he was asking you to do, you know,” says Wong, giving me the briefest sideways look. 

“Oh, didn’t he? Didn’t he know he was asking me to make sure a killer stays breathing...?” 

“He didn’t know this was personal for you.” 

“Oh, enough with putting way too much emphasis on words,” I say, actually lashing out to hit him in the shoulder. It is not a particularly violent action, in fact he barely notices, but the intention is there. It’s just that I’m far too tired to hit him as hard as I feel he deserves. “I never should have said anything. You would never know if I just kept my mouth shut...” 

“That’s... probably true,” admits Wong. “What? I had no clue.” 

“Well doesn’t that make me feel a whole lot better,” I utter, making a face. “Means I can keep a secret. It would be really sad if the only thing I was remembered for after I leave the order was my horrible taste in men...” 

“You’re not leaving.” 

“I might be.” 

“You’re not,” says Wong again. Weirdly enough, the complete certainty the words are spoken with does not make me want to hit him again.

People acting like they’re an authority on me usually do make me go extremely punchy. But this, for whatever reason, is a lot less upsetting.   
Maybe because it’s the thing I need to hear right now. 

Whatever the reason I just shut up after that. Let him make me some tea – actually take the time to brew it rather than just summon a cup the way we usually do around here. I almost manage to finish it too, before I feel my eyelids grow heavy and fall asleep right there in the kitchen. 

***

“He’s awake,” is the first thing that greets me as I open my eyes. 

“Of course he is. I’m really good at that kind of magic.”

“He wants to talk to you.” 

“And you... want to be cleaning up a crime scene...?” I say quirking an eyebrow at the Sorcerer Supreme. Who is just trying to see what it’ll take for me to start throwing teacups at his head now... 

“I really think it would be for the best...” 

“And I _really_ want to strangle you with your own magic cape. Do you want my resignation? Is that what’s happening here...?” 

“Just come along.” 

“Screw you, Stephen,” I say, raising my palms so I can open a portal anywhere that is not here. Like New Asgard. Because I was an idiot for not responding to the proposition I got on the battlefield with anything other than _yes please_ and this felt like a very good time to remedy that. 

“Stop. And listen,” he says, catching my wrist mid-motion. Taking his life into his own hands – as the glare I immediately aim his way must let him know because he releases me in the very next instant. “I wouldn’t be in the room.” 

“You also wouldn’t let me physically attack someone who’s just been nearly fatally wounded.” 

“I wouldn’t,” he agrees. “But _I wouldn’t be in the room_ ,” he repeats, meaningfully. 

And what can I do then but follow him? 

*** 

“Couldn’t you just let me die?”

“Couldn’t you just die?”

We speak over each other, the words coming nearly in unison. Giving our opinions on this situation away in nothing but a single sentence. And damn if he doesn’t look like someone who really hates it that no, we apparently couldn’t. 

“Hey – I _tried_ to tell them that’s what we should do with you, so don’t take that tone with me,” I snap at him even as I take a step closer. 

“You’re the one who made sure I lived,” he says, continuing to take that tone with me, the suicidal idiot. 

“And I regret it very much. Stephen bullied me into it. Wanna be snarky at anyone, be snarky at him. I was all for letting you die. Hell, I was ready to start digging the grave myself.” 

That momentarily shuts him up. Good. I need a quiet moment just now – to help me decide how much damage I want to do here. Because I _do_ want to do some damage, there is just no question there. I don’t care that he absolutely looks the part of someone who took on a crazy overpowered space sorcerer and nearly didn’t live to regret that decision. He still deserves to get punched. Because doing that? It doesn’t make him any less an unhinged killer. 

“This feels... unfair. To you,” he says eventually. Clearly choosing his words carefully. And still they make my hands immediately close into fists... 

“You really overestimate your impact on my life.” 

“I might,” he nods. “But you wouldn’t be this angry if I didn’t have _some_ impact...” 

“Oh, you really _do_ want to die, don’t you?” I say, finding a smile spreading over my face because that is so obviously a deliberate provocation. “Well, that makes this better. Knowing you hate this even more than I do. We couldn’t have done anything worse to you if we tried...” 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I know I’m right. He wanted to die, needed for the story to end that way. It was the only reason he stood with us on that battlefield. And we took that away from him... 

I can feel it turn cruel, that smile on my face. Not a pleasant feeling but I don’t seem to be able to do much about it. Or about my feet, taking a step and then another, bringing me even closer to him. Closer than I ever thought I will be again. Closer than I should be, perhaps. But it is so hard to resist savouring his misery. He earned it. He earned it with his mad little crusade, with every last magic practitioner whose powers he took away.

For so long I was living in a world where it seemed unlikely anyone would ever make him pay. And now... “How is it you put it?” I say, before softly brushing my lips against his the way I used to, a lifetime ago. Deriving a different kind of pleasure from it this time, one that is more amusement at the alarmed expression on his face than anything else. “The bill _always_ comes due.” 

“Are you sure it wasn’t your idea to save me?” he says when faced with that cruel amusement that’s all over my face. 

“It wasn’t. But, you know... Really glad they talked me into it.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“You look...” starts Wong, studying me as I gulp down a triple shot espresso right before his unbelieving eyes. 

“Like I never want to sleep again? How observant of you to pick up on that,” I say. Taking my anger out on the wrong person, true, but I refuse to be one of those people who yell at their reflection in the mirror. Even if my reflection absolutely earned getting yelled at. Because the dreams my night has been plagued by...? They were the definition of the last thing I needed right now.

“Is everything alright?” 

I just give him a look. One that is the only answer that question deserves, since I’m very obviously _not_ alright. 

“Are you having dreams about the battle?” he frowns, still looking so damn concerned for me. 

“Nope. I’m having dreams that make me wish I could be reliving that. Don’t even ask.” 

But then he doesn’t have to, does he? 

What is it with me and oversharing lately? Even while saying something relatively innocent I still ended up letting people know way too much about my personal life just by how I said things. And these were the people that didn’t even know I had personal life – because do any of us? When the hell would we have time for that with all the deadly diversions the adjoining dimensions provide for us on daily basis?

But back in the day, when I was young and dumb enough to think it was a good idea, I did make the effort to have some semblance of one. I found the time to look up from the dusty volumes every now and then. To get some exercise that was not preparing me for battles to come. Because how could that possibly come back to haunt me...?

Well, it did. It was literally haunting my dreams now. And it was so much worse that while they lasted I didn’t want to wake up from them.

Because in dreams I didn’t remember what came after. There was no context for it, only one instant of pleasure after another, all blending together into something that found me tangled in bedsheets and aching for release at dawn. And angry. At myself. At my traitor body that took the first opportunity to forget all the things that should have mattered just so it could remind me of all the reasons why I had that arrangement with Mordo in the first place. The first time could have been dismissed as a mistake – every subsequent time was a choice. And I made _a lot_ of choices back then. As my brain so helpfully reminded me last night... 

“I think I’m gonna have another one,” I say, more to myself than to Wong as I wave my now empty coffee cup around. 

“I think that might melt your brain.”

“Good. That’s about what it deserves...” 

*** 

“He wants to talk to you.” 

“And then there’s what I want to do to him, which is... unrepeatable,” I finish, rather then get into proper detail. Because even in the mood I'm in I couldn’t manage that much creative swearing this early in the morning. “Why do you always say it like that? Like what he wants matters? If that was the case we’d have let him die.” 

“I know you think you mean that,” replies Strange, sitting down opposite me and pulling the heavy volume on magical theory out of my hands. “I just wonder if you still would if it wasn’t for your...” 

“I swear, you say the word _history_ in that tone again and I _will_ jump over this table and won’t stop hitting you until you’re bleeding,” I tell him, my expression deadly serious. 

“Fair enough.” 

“Yeah. That _would_ be more than fair. Because you all need to stop talking to me in this goddamn well-meaning tone. I’m not the one that’s having the wrong kind of reaction to this. _You are_. Acting like he’s magically redeemed...” 

“I never said I believe...” he starts. 

“But you want it to be true. Let’s not forget I’m not the only one with _history_ ,” I say, putting way too much emphasis on the word myself, just to make him understand what it feels like to be on the receiving end of that. “Because the little bromance you two had back in the day...? It’s affecting your judgement. And then you come over here to talk to me about being irrational. It’s like you want to be punched,” I shake my head at him. 

“You...” he says, after spending several seconds just staring at me in silence, “might have a better chance of making your point if you phrased it differently. And you should really try. Because it _is_ a good point.” 

“Glad we agree. Now all you have to do is start acting the part,” I say, picking up the book again. “Stop being so damn considerate. Start looking for a cell we can throw him into for the next hundred years.” 

He leaves that without a comment. Instead he frowns at the symbols he can read on the cover of the magical volume I’ve been glaring at between sips of coffee. “What are you trying to do to yourself...?” he says, suddenly alarmed as he starts getting an idea of what kind of spells I’m looking into. 

“Nothing too extreme. Look, it’s _my_ brain. I want parts of it shut down, that’s my business.” 

“That is a bad idea.” 

“Well, yes... That’s how we know it’s mine,” I reply, this time not even looking up from the pages as I answer him. 

“You remember a few minutes ago...? When I came here to tell you he wants to talk to you?” he says, seemingly out of nowhere. “You need to go do that. I insist...” 

“You can insist all you like,” I reply with a smile that is not reaching my eyes. “Not happening.” 

I mean it when I say the words. I really do. 

But of course I’m underestimating his ability to insist. The man annoyed Dormammu into falling in line. Of course he could do the same to me... 

*** 

“... because you’re the only person that treats me how I deserve to be treated...” says Mordo some minutes into our inevitable yelling match. And there it is, out in the open. The reason he wants me around even though it’s my fault he’s still breathing.

“You do understand that now that I know you get off on the abuse I’m going to stop, right?” I say, feeling my expression soften even as I say the words. 

“No you’re not,” he says, a humourless little laugh punctuating the words. “You’re too angry. It’ll always come out.” 

Which is probably true. But the thing is... it’s only anger. It’s not hate. I might be horrified of what he became, how far he strayed from the person I knew, but that’s not the same as hating him. I’m as angry as I know how to be but that’s as far as it’ll ever go. “I’ll get used to it, you know. You being around again. It’ll make me less angry every day, until it becomes just another thing, I learned how to live with” I tell him. And it’s probably true. It would explain why I sound so calm as I say the words. 

“No,” he says only, shaking his head. Not willing to live in a world where that’s possible. 

“I can never be as angry at you as you are. As you’ve been since the day you realized what a horrible mistake you have made,” I say, finally getting the picture. Finally understanding what it is that makes him want to be exposed to my volatile moods. 

It’s not much of a punishment but it’ll do. Because he knows he _deserved_ to be punished. At some point he understood, at last, just what harm he was doing to the world. Understood what he became. _A villain_. That’s what drove him to fight alongside us on that horrible day when the titan came back. That’s what drove him to do everything in his power to make sure he’ll die fighting those forces we should have been no match for. 

He knew he deserved to die then. He still knew it now. And no, my anger was no match for what he must be feeling every second he’s still drawing breath. 

This would be a good moment to walk away. But me and good decisions... And so instead I just take that one last step, crossing what little distance there still is between us and kiss him. Not to be cruel this time. Well, a little to be cruel. I can’t make the switch from anger to whatever this disturbingly calm feeling is that easily. “It’s okay,” I tell him, smiling an infuriating little smile of someone who suddenly sees things very clearly. “You’ll hate yourself plenty for both of us.” 

“You shouldn’t keep doing that,” he tells me. And he shouldn’t be putting his hands on my hips, but I don’t tell him that. It’s more fun to wait for him to realize and snatch them away in alarm. 

“Try and stop me,” I say, smiling, as I press my lips against his again. A lot easier thing to do with the memory of the dreams that haunted my night. And my tongue must taste of bitter coffee and that seems not to matter to him in the slightest. 

It’s not entirely clear even to me, what drives me to do this mad thing. Maybe because in some twisted way this is just another form of punishment, something he knows he has no right to and hates himself for accepting... 

And maybe I just got hit on the head by a piece of spaceship debris the other day, which would also work as an explanation. Either way I am not stopping. Which is unfortunate because he’s not stopping me either... 

“Oh thank god,” I say when I hear the sound of the door opening, making us stop what we’re doing. This utterly inappropriate thing we’re doing.

“Because you just had to insist. That’s right,” I say, glaring at Strange as I slip by him out of the room, “I blame you.” 

*** 

“I thought you aren’t to be trusted around me,” comments Mordo the next time I enter the room we’ve been keeping him in since he rejoined the living. That looks nothing like a cell and I’m really going to have to take that up with my superiors because a cell is what he deserves. Some particularly depressing one at that. “Does Stephen know you’re here?” he asks, catching something in my expression. Something he does not like the look of.

“I’d answer that but it would give you the wrong idea. I’m not here to talk.”

“No,” he says. In what he probably thinks is the kind of stern tone that’ll end the conversation right there. 

I actually find myself laughing when I hear that. 

True, I might have given him the wrong impression by staying away for nearly two weeks after the weirdness our last conversation devolved into. But that has been two weeks of increasingly vivid dreams and I was done telling myself they’ll just go away by themselves. No, I needed to get this out of my system. 

“So... there’s this spell I’ve been looking into. Very likely to liquify my brain but it would help me forget ever meeting you and that does feel like a risk worth taking,” I tell him. “I still think that’s the way I should have gone. But it would take me weeks to learn it and I am _not_ putting up with this for that long. Dreams,” I explain when his expression tells me he’s about to ask what the hell I’m talking about. “I’ve been having dreams. About the old times. Now this is either going to make them go away or make them a lot worse...” 

“You’re not going to find out.” 

“What, because you’re not going to cooperate?” I guess, again just finding that attitude funny. Because he can keep saying that – but I can see the way he’s watching my hands as they work on loosening my tunic. Which is going to take a moment because these things always look like they’ll be pretty easy to disentangle oneself from but it is rarely the case. Me, I blame all the layers we wear. Because seriously, what was I thinking putting this many on...? 

“Can you stop undressing?” he asks after watching me for another long second. 

“No. I could start undressing faster,” I add, not missing a beat. “If you got over here and helped.”

“I really don’t want to do this.” 

“Noted. But you are going to,” I shrug. Not entirely sure where is that certainty coming from. It’s not like he ever gave me an impression he found me particularly irresistible. It was always about convenience. I was just around – and usually stressed out of my mind so I was reliably saying yes to pretty much anything so long as it helped me get rid of the tension. Things were uncomplicated like that then. 

Not anymore. And they were only going to get worse after this. I should probably care about that, but... 

“Oh, fine,” he says and there is nothing but angry resignation in his voice as he starts pulling at my clothes. 

“That’s the spirit.” 

*** 

The worst part is I do none of the things I fear I might have to keep myself from doing. Once we get past his pretence at resistance there is no thought of biting him, no thought of raking his skin with my nails. It stops being what I want to do almost immediately. 

It shouldn’t go away this fast, that perfectly justified anger. But it does. I forget all the other things I feel about him now and let myself desire him, like I did once. Let myself demand things from him and give in to him and act on lust with ease with which I could never act on anger. There is even a moment where I almost admit it out loud. That I missed this. That I can’t believe I managed to do without for as long as this. Because there was nothing quite like what we had, there really wasn’t... 

“Well?” 

“Shouldn’t have done this,” I say. Not surprising him in the slightest. 

“I tried to tell you.” 

I do hurt him then. It’s that well-meaning tone to the words that sets me off and I hit him in the shoulder. Hard enough to bruise him, I’m sure. “You don’t get points for that if you still let me do it.” 

“I never knew how to say no to you.” 

That’s worse. The worst thing he can say to me – the worst thing he can mean every word of. And I have no idea what it is that keeps me from hitting him again. 

I should have left the order the day they made me save him. I know that now. Now that it’s too damn late to fix that mistake. All I can do is make an even bigger one to overshadow it... And I really nailed that part, didn’t I? 

“If it helps...” he starts and almost flinches as I turn the full force of my glare at him. 

“No, please – go ahead and start being helpful now.” 

“If making me miserable was the point...” he tries again. 

I don’t even dignify that with an answer. Just shake my head to let him know that he can’t hope to make me believe what just transpired between us made him anything of the kind. Until I catch the way he looks at me as I start pulling my tunic back on. 

He thinks this is the last time he can ever have this. And miserable is exactly what the thought is making him. 

Good to know. Would be a whole lot more satisfying if only I could say with any kind of certainty that that was actually the case. But I came here pretty much convinced I won’t be able to keep myself from leaving bloody scratches all over his skin and that became the furthest thing from my mind within minutes. So what the hell could I know about what came next...? 

Nothing good, obviously. Because it was one thing to have a history - but I had a horrible feeling that after what I did tonight we also had a future. And I had no one but myself to blame for that. 


End file.
